I have imagined in my head many times what this day would feel like. The day when we no longer have to plan our lives around cancer. And in less than twenty-four hours, Mallorie will receive her last shot of methotrexate.
Emotions are a bit overwhelming at this moment. I think back to the beginning. The beginning of Mal’s journey, our journey. It was so unexpected, this diagnosis the doctors called leukemia. At that time, leukemia seemed like a monster trying to steal from me, my little girl. Now, it’s all gone.
Mallorie’s battle was one with many twist and turns. Rough, exhausting, painful, and unknown. She lost her hair, she lost weight, she lost strength, but she never lost her spirit. She had good days. She had bad days. She had days she wanted to give up. She had days she told me to not give up.
There were tears. There was laughter. There was anger. There were screams.
Watching Mallorie slowly start to wither away in the early stages of treatment is something I will never forget. Flesh on bones. Shunk in cheeks. Frail and weak. Makes me nauseated just thinking of it. Thankfully, we had a fantastic Oncologist and wonderful nurses.
Speaking of nurses, we were blessed by so many people, but the ones who kept us going were the nurses. They became immediate family. Seeing us at our worst. Giving the meds. Hearing the cries of pain. Lending an ear in the middle of the night. The nurses are heroes.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Months turned to years.
Mallorie got stronger. Her hair came back. (Curly and brown. Before cancer, it was straight and blonde.) She grew. Hospital stays decreased. Lengthly chemo stop. Port came out. Things were semi-normal.
Now, hours away from her getting to ring the bell. I am excited. She did it! We did it! By the grace of God and prayers. By wonders in medicine and skills of our doctors, Mallorie will be heading into her Freshman year cancer free.
Just Keep Swimming.